Distorted
by Smelly Socks
Summary: When the spirited Lady Hermione meets the pages Harry, Ron, and Neville, a friendship is formed after a misunderstanding. Meanwhile, Lady Ginevra and Page Draconis fight their arranged marriage. And there's always Voldemort...AU, duh
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Although the plot of this fic is mine, the characters and (hopefully) the personalities that you recognize belong to JK Rowling.

Hermione Granger fixed all of her attention on the book, pausing only occasionally to take a sip of the strong tea that let her read through the night. The book in her lap now was a Latin Bible, and an English one she kept underneath for translation.

"I _will_ get this," she assured herself. This was, of course, entirely plausible. A clever young woman with access to the palace library, the only thing that kept her back was her father's insistence that education was a waste on a woman, and that she could better spend her time attracting a wealthy husband so that he would no longer need to supply for her. So she stayed up late, sometimes until the palace clock struck 3:00 each night, teaching herself what she longed to know…history, mathematics, medicines, astronomy, and languages. French and English were her most fluent, but she knew a little Spanish, and her casual suitor Viktor was teaching her German. Latin was her newest project.

Viktor, famous with a blade, had begun to teach her some means of defense as well. When his blade had proved to be unsurprisingly too heavy, he'd insisted on buying her a strong, light sword, to which she'd protested only very weakly and thanked him profusely for. It hung loosely just under her outer skirt whenever she felt threatened, which was more often than she liked. She also kept a dagger in her boots whenever she wore them, and when all else failed, she had the carefully sheathed knife-edge hairpin.

Her eyes watered from lack of sleep and she blinked impatiently. Next to her lay blank pages of paper, and she exchanged the Latin book for the English one. Opening to the middle of the book, she proceeded, one line at a time, to translate the English into clumsy Latin, until her elegant writing had covered the front and back of ten pages. Then she carefully closed the book and restored it and the other to the shelf. Returning to the desk, she rolled up her parchment and blew out her candle, preferring to return to her apartments in the dark, more easily invisible.

It was because of the darkness that she discovered the three men in the corridor undetected. She hesitated around the corner, curious but fearful.

"No, you prat, we've already been this way. Three times actually. I tell you, we're supposed to be upstairs."

"Lower your voice Ron, unless you want to be caught and get extra duty for a month. And if you do, at least have the decency not to drag me into it."

"Come _on_. You can argue somewhere else…when – _if_ - we get back to our rooms." Hermione relaxed at the sound of the third voice. Neville, a new page at the palace, was a boy she had met only days ago, but she had instantly been charmed by his aptitude for making large mistakes. The other two, she decided, couldn't be bad if they could look past his accident-prone awkwardness. She stepped out from behind the corner.

The three boys stopped. Neville was first to smile, then the other two – a tall, dark haired boy with spectacles and an even taller one with red hair and a face that was quicker to smile than frown – took in her appearance and relaxed. The dark haired boy dug into his purse and found out a coin.

"A coin for your silence and the way back to the pages' wing, maid," he offered.

She stiffened, forgetting their potential of being bearable people. She had meant to dress plainly, yes, but to be taken as a maid was a great insult. She saw Neville open his mouth to correct his friend, but she beat him to it, speaking to them as she longed to speak to the old men who came looking for a young wife and took an interest in her.

"I am neither a maid nor interested in your coin," she told him coldly. "I could not care less about any punishment you might receive, and would gladly report you, for it seems you know you are breaking the rules, but for Neville's sake I will tell you that your dormitories lie upstairs to the left. If I catch any of you out of bed again I will most certainly tell. Good night."

She turned and strode away, annoyed but slightly pleased with herself.

It was with some misgivings that Harry and Ron followed the snobbish girl's directions. Only with Neville's honest insistence that she was trustworthy did they bother to try at all, and it was with mild surprise that they shortly reached the dormitory that they shared together.

"How d'you know her, anyway?" Ron asked once were all lying in their bunks in the dark. The fourth bunk was supposed to belong to the page Draco Malfoy, but he had instead decided to keep his more extravagant rooms in the palace. This, according to Ron, was just like him; Harry and Neville had chosen not to mention that Ron had only met Draco when they had. The Weasly-Malfoy hatred was legendary.

"She asked why I kept returning to the library the other day," Neville said, grateful that the darkness hid his blush. "Then she helped me find the book that I needed for the chivalry essay. She was nice."

Ron spoke with smirk in his voice: "Ooh, Neville, sounds like you're sweet on her."

Harry, working on the chivalry essay by candlelight, paused his not-so-abundant concentration to defend Neville, who was blushing again. "Ron, she looked to be at least 16, and since none of us are yet 14 -".

"It's not unheard of," Ron protested.

"Thinking of Lady Angelina again, aren't you?" Neville shot at Ron; he didn't want to weaken his own defense by telling them that Hermione was actually only newly fifteen. His strategy worked, but only slightly, as he heard the thump of Ron jumping off the bunk and then something soft but suffocating hit him. The pillow fight only ended when Harry waded in, still holding a wet quill, to break up the fight. The only sound for the rest of the night was quill scratching paper.

The Earldoms of Weasly and Malfoy were the oldest houses in the land. Ironically, the founders of the houses had been brother and sister, but it was not infrequent that siblings should fight, and in their case it was constant. Calistilla Dumbledore was the earless of the Malfoy house, and after her death her bastard son had taken her place, with King Alector Dumbledore's blessing. The Malfoy house never ran low on money, this was something that only their peasants faced, but it was reasoned by the Malfoys that there was no earldom that lacked poor peasants.

Fritz Dumbledore had been the first of the Weasly house. The Weasly house had once been richer than even the Malfoys, but soon after the houses had been established, barbarians of the north had attacked the Weaslys' lands, leaving a four-year famine and a large, still unpaid debt of soldiers and money to the Malfoy house. After that, much as they had tried, the Weaslys had had little luck improving their fortune, and their hatred of the Malfoys was only increased by jealousy.

King Albus Dumbledore had found a problematic, yet possible solution – to join the houses. It was thus that the Earl Arthur's youngest child and only daughter, Ginevra, had been promised since birth to the Malfoys' only child, Draconis. Ginevra would be her father's heir and Draco his, and thus the feud would come to an end. Or so King Albus hoped. But King Albus had not met the two children in question. And only for the first time that day were they to meet each other…

Dun dun dun…I've decided not to base the plots on JK Rowling's books, but I'm trying to weave in most of the characters. Obviously Voldemort is still evil and a prob. and stuff…I'll be introducing him soon. If you review than I will smile at you, or at least at the computer screen. Unless I get a flame… : ) (raised unibrow)


	2. Strange meetings

Disclaimer: yada yada yada…

Ginevra, more commonly known as Ginny, sat at her vanity table applying various paints to her face expertly. Normally there would have been a maid there to do it for her, but her family could hardly afford food for the table, and she preferred to fix herself anyway. Besides, she couldn't risk a gossipy maid.

Although she was barely 13, it would have been any normal girl's "coming out" years. "Coming out" meant that your family was notable and that you had already gotten your period. She had both. "But," her family said, "If you're already engaged, we can't afford to send you to parties for fun." Which was true. She completely understood it. She completely hated it.

So here she was at court, at the invitation of the king himself, who had somehow gotten her parents to believe that he always paid for the board and clothing of his guests. She was slightly grateful to him: he had made up for nearly a quarter of the mess he had made her life in the first place.

The marriage was not until her sixteenth birthday. She had seen her betrothed, and he wasn't bad looking. Ginny knew that it was a sin to judge by looks, but she didn't particularly care.

Finished with her makeup, Ginny rose gracefully out of her chair and removed the apron that kept her from staining the dress. The dress was a masterpiece. A single peacock feather covered her chest and curved down to the point where her bodice formed a V, drawing attention away from her unimpressive chest. Thin black material showed a dizzying array of colors underneath it. For the final touch, Ginny grabbed a colored mask and hid the strap under her hair, which was strung with sparkles and different colored gems. She had no plans of taking off the mask that night…she wished to enter by the Malfoy curtain that evening, to see the Draco who wasn't her betrothed.

Draconis Malfoy stood frozen with his politest smirk as Lady Trelawny rambled on about something that he didn't bother to try to figure out. The woman was clearly mad, not to mention that she smelled of mothballs and sour milk. Now and then his eyes drifted over to the Weasly entrance, where Ginevra should be coming out. His smirk broadened slightly at the thought of the marriage…it would obviously not last long, but until his father fund a proper assassin for the girl, he could play nice. Well, he could try…he wasn't sure that he would be able to smile, however falsely, if she turned out to be anything like her brothers. Which she most certainly would.

His eyes traveled over to Pansy, dressed in furs to resemble a cat. He hadn't bothered to dress up for the mosque…however many old bats he was forced to talk to, he still had _some _scraps of dignity left. Pansy, in his opinion, looked as though she were a pregnant bear.

He blinked and found that his burden had left. Not bothering to question why, he glanced through the crowd for a familiar face that he wanted to talk to. There were none…it seemed that everyone was still wearing masks. He spotted a group of Malfoy women who had not disgraced themselves with Pansy's extravagance, but instead wore simple masks. He gave Pansy a wide berth as he joined the other two gentlemen who stood talking to the ladies.

His rule with ladies was to smile, nod, put in occasional words like, "Oh", "Ah yes", "Most definitely", "Mmm," and "Do you think so?". Their lady's training had taught them the rest, and he saw no need to intrude on such experts. Instead, when he woke up in their beds the next day he would disappear and pretend it had never happened…most often he had gotten them too drunk the night before to remember.

He sorted through the ladies for a new partner. He knew Janishé and Blanche all too well…the palace whores. He preferred not to prey on them – Jan's laugh was earsplitting and Blanche had a peculiar way of smiling that unnerved him. He refused to go within 10 feet of Pansy. Perhaps, he decided, it was time for some new blood.

His eyes fixed almost at once on a girl with a peacock costume. He found it slightly funny that a girl would dress as a male bird, but it wasn't the first time. She stood at the refreshment table on the Malfoy side of the hall, already sipping wine – a good sign. He strode over to her and she looked up, in either alarm or triumph. He didn't care which.

"A dance, my lady," he asked without a question at the end, holding out his arm. She took it as he led her to the dance floor.

The conversation that he was accustomed to was non-existent. Two minutes into the dance, annoyed at the embarrassing silence, Draco bothered to ask after her name and house.

"Delia from the house of Gealiché. It's foreign," she explained. From France, she decided. French and Latin were her only two other languages, and she was pretty sure there wasn't a Latania. She wasn't positive – Geography had never been a strong subject…but it would be embarrassing to discover her "hometown" did not exist.

"You don't have an accent," he murmured, trying to sound impressed. It was an unsuccessful attempt, he thought…he sounded more constipated than anything else. He needed to work on that.

She gave her thanks and from there the conversation deteriorated from little to none. The waltz ended, and he offered to get her a drink. If she refused than he could move onto someone else, and if not, he could find her the strongest alcohol, which loosened the quietest of tongues.

She accepted.

Lord Voldemort, the diplomat from Calazia, viewed the ball with a sneer that matched Draco's. His unreadable eyes followed Draco and the girl until she began to loosen up, and he watched him escort her to no doubt his apartments. As a young man he, too, had been a horny bastard. It was Voldemort, actually, who had invented a drug that worked several times more efficiently and faster than alcohol. He made a note to give some of the precious stuff to Draco.

Stiff from sitting in a chair so long, he got up and left the party, following Draco's path until he reached the library, where he stopped. He had not visited Hogwart's pride and joy for nearly a year, and he was anxious to do so now. Retrieving one of many keys from his pocket, he inserted it in the lock.

The library was black, so he lit a candle on the desk. The candle was still warm.

His first thought was of a couple, perhaps Draco and the girl, but as he glanced at the desk he found several sheets of paper in Latin, copied neatly from a bible in a woman's hand. The last words on the page were still wet. Smiling, he closed the door and lit a torch on the wall, so that it cast eerie shadows that danced on the walls. He moved around lighting the others on the wall, watching carefully for his culprit. So therefore, the sudden pressure of a sharp blade across his throat was quite unexpected.

"Don't move." The voice was husky, the breath in his ear warm. He reached up and grabbed the offending wrist, using all of his muscle until her arm lay at her side. Raising an eyebrow, he took removed the weapon from her now limp hand.

"Tut tut. You shouldn't be doing that, Miss Granger"

Bonnie, one of the Malfoys' many bloodhounds lapped up the last few drops of wine from the under the table Ginny had been standing at. Draco's father, in the middle of a long and dull debate with the French diplomat over the usage of wheat, excused himself abruptly and took the dog out through the garden as discreetly as he could. No easy feat, as the dog swayed back and forth crazily. Once outside, Bonnie promptly through up all over Mr. Malfoy's shoes.

Hestia: Tamora Pierce is one of my favorite authors, I hope I'm not borrowing too much from her… Actually, I don't think it is going to be Ron/Hermione – I don't know much about the future plot because if I plan it then I get bored with the story.

Snaped: Well technically Hermione's rank is superior to the pages, but money-wise she is waaaaaaay below all of them except possibly Ron.


End file.
